On Earth
by Juniper35
Summary: After falling to Earth, Yzak and Dearka's relationship changes. Dearka learns the secret of the identity of Yzak's father and the ambitious scheme behind his friend's very existence. Warning: Developing YAOI theme and sexual content as story progresses.
1. Chapter 1

**Earth**

Dearka didn't remember much of the fall through the earth's atmosphere. The little he retained was a nightmare of vibration and heat: the whole cockpit shook, while the controls were lit by an eerie orange glow from the Buster itself, superheated in the atmospheric friction. But all that was simply background to the sound of Yzak's voice. He couldn't recall the exact words, other than his own name, but he remembered the tone – Yzak was screaming, urging Dearka do to do something, ordering him, but Dearka couldn't make out what it was. He would later learn that Yzak tried to get him to manoeuvre closer to him, but he hadn't responded; he was too far gone by then. By dangerously overcharging his thrusters, Yzak finally made it over to Dearka's position. He desperately shielded and guided Buster through re-entry. Without his help, Dearka would never have made it; by the time they reached the ground, Dearka had blacked out.

His next memory was of lying on hot sandy soil outside the crashed Buster. The air was too warm. The back of his throat was so dry he gagged on every breath. His eyes were open but the world kept greying out around him. He felt his flight suit ripped open at the throat and water splashed into his face. A hand tilted his head back and water sloshed into his mouth. He choked, but a little filtered down his throat, easing the dryness.

"Dearka, drink this, damn you! You've got to swallow properly; we don't have the water to waste."

"Yzak?" he gritted out, "Wha- ? Where…?"

"Damned if I know precisely, but I've sent a signal; we're not that far off, so they're coming for us from Gibraltar. Now swallow this water or I'll pour it down your throat by force."

Belying the rough words, Dearka felt himself gently lifted with an arm around his back, and the mouth tube of the flask squirted more liquid between his dry lips. He swallowed and opened his mouth to speak.

"No, keep drinking. No talking. Just drink, you've got to get as much into you as possible. You're too hot."

Dearka remembered leaning against Yzak, though contact with his body was uncomfortable: it was another source of heat. A few swallows more, and Yzak relented a little.

"You…should…drink…too" Dearka managed to say.

"I've had some. I'm hot, but not as bad as you. Try and stay awake, will you. Now take some more."

But he couldn't drink anymore, as the greyness was swallowing him up, and the sound of Yzak's voice was the last thing Dearka knew before consciousness faded.

**Gibraltar Base Hospital**

For a long time Dearka inhabited a strange twilight world where he couldn't make out his surroundings, but vague half-heard voices indicated that people were somewhere in the vicinity, even if he couldn't see them. He knew he needed to find Yzak. Dearka called his name and tried to stumble towards the voice that responded to his call, but something was tying his legs down, hampering his steps. He remembered swearing, and calling out to Yzak for help. He felt Yzak grip his hand, and knew that it was going to be all right.

"Dearka, just relax. I'm right here. Calm down. You're safe."

Blackness came again.

He came to the surface of some deep black swamp, which still held his body in its sticky grip. Eyes blinked open and took in the impression of a white hygienic room, with muted lighting that suggested it was night. There was crisp bed linen, and a drip running into his left arm. _So, an infirmary._ Then he realised that the feeling of being trapped had a real source. His bare torso was free, but there were straps over the thin sheeting that covered him from the waist down. He was secured to the bed. Dearka had barely time to assimilate this when a voice said right next to his ear, "Well it's about time you woke up, arsehole."

His heavy head jerked to the right, though the effort to raise it from the pillow was beyond him at that moment. He found himself gazing directly into Yzak's face, inches from his own, and on the same level. After a confused moment, Dearka realised that two hospital beds and had been pushed together and Yzak was lying close beside him in the adjacent one, draped in a loose white patient top. Yzak pushed himself up in bed, staring down at him. "Are you making sense now, I wonder?"

Dearka tried a grin, though it came out a bit wobbly. "As much as I've ever done, Yzak. Mind telling me why I'm tied up in bed with you?"

Yzak glared. "It's all your fault. You've been out of your head with a temperature spike. You kept trying to get out of bed. They had to strap you down in the end. The only other thing that seemed to shut you up was me talking to you, so they shoved me in here with you."

Yzak placed the back of his hand on Dearka's forehead to check his temperature. The brush of his skin against Dearka's was strangely enjoyable, and Dearka had to repress a shiver of pleasure at the touch.

"Well, you don't feel that hot anymore. I guess you are back, in what passes for your right mind."

Yzak sighed grumpily. "I hope to hell that they let us out of this place soon, because I am damn sick of it."

Yzak's words attempted to disguise the relief that was flooding through him at the evident recovery of his friend. Relief further boosted with the desire to get away from the scene of his embarrassment over the last hours. He was trying not to think about the implications of Dearka's behaviour while delirious with the high-temperature fever.

Dearka had restlessly whimpered his name over and over. The only thing that seemed to reassure him for any length of time was to hold his hand and keep repeating the same simple message about being safe. Yzak, tied to the bed by his own drip at that stage, (he impatiently pulled it out a couple of hours later), had got the medical orderly to give him a small bowl of cold water and a cloth he could use to cool Dearka down.

He had felt like punching the man for his impertinence, when, after bringing the desired items, he lingered by the bed for a moment and asked curiously, "How long have you two been together, then?" Yzak didn't like his tone, or the implications of his question.

"I've known him since I was seven years old. And what the hell has that got to do with anything?"

The medical attendant's face had cleared, as if some suspicion had been wiped away. He quickly made an excuse to escape, and was not seen again by Yzak, which suited him just fine. Yzak lay on his side, keeping watch over Dearka's restlessness, holding his hand, and occasionally re-applying the cooling cloth. He had been almost glad to have the anger about the fool of a medical attendant as something to think about, other than his anxiety for Dearka. Nor had he been comfortable with asking himself why the revelation of Dearka's unsuspected vulnerability, had brought such an upsurge of protective emotion in himself.

Eventually he had become too weary to stay on the alert all the time. As Dearka became more peaceful, Yzak allowed his own tired overstressed body to relax onto the bed.

Sleep had gradually claimed them both. Yzak could still feel it tugging at him now.

"It's the middle of the night, Dearka. We should get some more sleep so we can get the hell out of here tomorrow."

Dearka nodded, his eyes seemed huge and dark in the subdued light. With effort he raised the hand without the drip to rub his eyes, like a tired child. "Yeah, I think that's a good idea. Uh, could you undo my legs? They feel kind of weird like this."

"All right," Yzak grumbled, "but if I hear one smartarse remark about how I look in this hospital gown, you can stay trussed up like a turkey, OK!"

With that he hauled himself wearily out of the bed and padded slowly round to the far side of Dearka's. He bent to fiddle with the straps underneath the bed; Dearka could hear him softly muttering profanity at one particularly stubborn clasp. Then the straps loosened, and Dearka exultantly stretched his freed limbs.

"Thanks, Yzak."

"Nyuh…" in a surly tone was all the response he got as Yzak wearily settled himself back in his own bed.

They lay there, simply looking at one another in exhausted silence.

"Uh, Yzak?"

"Yeah?"

"I seem to remember some very funny dreams. Scary… you know."

"Yeah, so?"

"Uh, would you…Can I just…uh"

"Just spit it out, Dearka. What the hell do you want me to do now?"

"Hang on to my hand while I fall asleep? I know it sounds crazy, but it seemed to help."

Yzak looked at him with a total lack of expression for a moment. Then he slid his hand across and took the other boy's in a firm clasp. "Just close your eyes and sleep. Tomorrow we are getting the fuck out of here."

With this benediction, both boys relaxed, and soon the only sound in the room was their easy breathing.

During the night the duty doctor came to check on them. The two boys lay side by side, holding hands. Faces relaxed in sleep, they looked young and untouched by life. Their striking looks lent charm to the picture they presented: a contrast of cream and honey-coloured skin; silver hair with gold. Even the bandage on the silver boy's face seemed to emphasise the delicacy of his features, rather than detract from them. The doctor was not a sentimental man, but he dealt with a constant stream of young people in their physical prime, whose bodies and minds were being wrecked by the war. The terrible fragility of such youth and beauty was a background daily tragedy in the hospital; he felt a stirring of pity for the two boys, and decided to leave his examination till the very end of his shift, to allow them a little more peaceful time together.


	2. Chapter 2

**Gibraltar Base Hospital** (again)

The pale lemon of dawn could be seen through the hospital windows as the tired doctor made his last call before going off shift. He was already an hour over his time and exhausted. Just this last duty to fit in before he could get some rest.

He returned to the room holding the boys who he had left to sleep, hours before. It bore a very different appearance in the morning light. The two beds had been pushed back apart, the covers thrown off. Both were empty: one former occupant was getting dressed in red ZAFT elite uniform, while the sounds of a shower running declared the whereabouts of the other.

The boy with silver hair laid the red uniform coat on the bed when the doctor entered, and said briskly: "Ah, good. I was planning on sending you a message. We are getting out of here, Doctor."

The peaceful and delicate-seeming youth glimpsed in the night, was gone entirely. He spoke with abrupt authority, face alive with impatience. The doctor had dealt often enough with young elite pilots, to not be surprised at the arrogance of the tone. He was more concerned to see the boy follow these words by peeling off the bandages on his face which must have got wet from his shower. Two fierce blue eyes were now staring the doctor down.

"The decision on your release must be made on medical grounds. I'll need to take a closer look at your facial injury, for one thing."

For a moment the boy looked as if he might protest, but controlling himself, gave a shrug. He permitted the doctor to examine the injury, with a simmering false patience. "This will need a bandage for a couple of more days yet. You should be careful about exposure to UV, as well. Don't forget, sunshine here on earth is not regulated like on the PLANTs…"

He didn't get a chance to explain further as the silver-haired youth stepped back from him in annoyance. "I'm not planning on any sunbathing, Doctor! We're going when Dearka gets out of the shower. If you want to re-bandage it, I'll accept that, but we're not delaying here any longer."

The doctor saw that argument was fruitless and not worth the effort anyway, as there appeared to be no serious medical grounds for detaining the boy in hospital. He dutifully re-bandaged the injury with fresh dressings from the room's supplies. He had just finished when the other boy emerged, fully dressed, from the bathroom annexe. He gave the doctor a sunny smile. "Hi, Doc. Before you ask, I'm fine, and we really gotta get going."

The doctor gave an inward smile of wry appreciation. _So one operates as the battering ram, and the other uses charm. Quite a double-act these two have._

"I at least need to record your temperature, if only to make my medical notes look complete" the doctor said in mildly plaintive tones.

"Sure, Doc."

The doctor duly inserted a little electronic thermometer in the taller boy's ear, looking carefully at his skin and eyes for any lingering evidence of dehydration or heat stress.

To distract his patient, he asked "I'm surprised you had your uniforms with you. I had understood you were brought in after combat and atmospheric free-fall."

Dearka grinned. "We didn't, Doc. Yzak contacted the central quartermaster stores before dawn and got them to courier them over to us."

The doctor's eyebrows rose. "I wasn't aware that they issued uniforms over the phone like that."

The silver-haired youth smiled evilly and said "They don't – usually."

The doctor coughed to cover his startled laugh. "Well, you're good to go. Just take it easy for a day or so. You'll feel more tired than usual with the gravity, too, don't forget."

"Thanks, Doc," smiled the blond. His silver-haired companion just nodded, in what might have been either agreement with the sentiment, or simply dismissal. The exiting doctor's last sight of them was the taller boy helping to adjust the new uniform coat's stiff collar at the other's throat, while they argued mildly about its fit.

_Interesting couple. Hope they make it. Well, time for some sleep at last….._

**Gibraltar Base Communications Room**

By unspoken agreement between the two boys, Dearka took the only chair available before the screen in the Base Communications Room, when they contacted Commander Le Creuset after leaving the hospital. Truth to tell, he was still a little shaky on his feet, and the Commander was not someone before whom it was a good idea to reveal any weakness, mental or physical.

The Commander said all the right-sounding things about their safe arrival and Dearka was careful to be deprecating about his own brush with death. The kick in the guts was the news that they were being left on Earth to help the ground forces look for the Legged Ship. Yzak's subsequent outburst of rage, once the Commander had signed off, was the worst Dearka had seen in a long time. When Yzak pulled off his bandage revealing the red slash down his face, Dearka was appalled. Not just fearful that Yzak might do himself harm by acting against the doctor's orders, but at the rage and pain in his face as he did it. Dearka's heart ached for Yzak, even as he felt his own resentment of the Strike building.

"We'll get them, Yzak. They can't escape forever."

"First we have to find them. Let's get ourselves assigned a room in the barracks. Then I'll get Communications to send an alert to our quarters as soon as any reports come in of their whereabouts. It'll mean that one of us will have to be there at all times in order to pick up messages immediately. We may have to react fast once we know. You can take the first shift."

"What are you going to be doing, Yzak?"

"I'll go and check with the maintenance and re-supply crew, see how they're getting on with Duel and Buster. Make sure they're doing as quick a job as they can. We don't want any delays when we get an opportunity. You heard the Commander, if we get a chance, we're to take out Strike and the Legged Ship! I want it to be us that do it, not somebody from the Gibraltar forces."

**Gibraltar Base Barracks Room**

The room assigned to them was typical of ZAFT barracks. In fact, they were so standardised that the room could have been on any military base in the PLANTs. Two beds, two desk consoles with their own computer screens, basic bathroom facilities and some storage space for uniforms and gear. _All done in tasteful beige. _Dearka was trying hard not to doze. There was something about beige that he had always found very sleep-inducing. He lay on his bed resting. _After all it was doctor's orders, and not even Yzak could bitch about that, could he? Where was Yzak, anyway?_

Dearka frowned to himself. He seemed to do a lot of thinking about Yzak lately. They had been friends for so long, Dearka had thought that there was nothing that could disrupt that sense of being comfortable with Yzak. Sure, he was maddening, physically violent, demanding, ambitious, contrary and paranoid. So what? All those things were familiar and comfortable to Dearka. Even the temper tantrums had the warm comfort of an old coat. He was also brave, kind and loyal, and would cheerfully kill Dearka for ever saying any of those things to his face. Lately, however, there was something different between them. Was it in himself, or had something about Yzak changed?

Dearka could only vaguely remember the time before he knew Yzak. His chief recollection was that life then was dull. Dearka was a handsome little boy, charming and likeable. As an only child, he came in for quite a bit of spoiling. Most of his wishes for toys or treats were readily granted; schoolwork was little intellectual challenge for the very bright child; other kids seemed dull and lacking imagination. There was no challenge in Dearka' life, no object, no focus. Then he met Yzak. Bang! At age six, Dearka was presented with a brilliant, spiky puzzle, which might take a lifetime of work to understand, with no guarantee that he would ever find all the answers. The last ten years of being round Yzak was like being witness to a permanent display of fireworks: beautiful, noisy, startling, and sometimes downright dangerous. Dearka couldn't imagine life without Yzak.


	3. Chapter 3

**Gibraltar Base Barracks **(Somewhere in the corridors)

Yzak trudged along the seemingly endless corridors of the Gibraltar Base, on the way back to his and Dearka's room. He was feeling more tired than he would admit to anyone. _Bloody planetary gravity_. He should have been feeling better, after the outburst of honest rage that had consumed him when he visited the mobile suit hangar, only to discover the battered Duel and Buster standing unattended in their support frames. He had the satisfaction of seeing them swarming with mechanics by the time he left. Mechanics whose ears were probably still burning, too._ With their sloppy attitude, none of them would ever get a posting as maintenance crew on a spaceship, that's for sure. ZAFT must have sent the dregs down here to Earth_. He made a mental note to double check Duel's systems when they were done; he didn't trust them to do a thorough job. If Dearka had any sense, he'd do the same.

_Dearka…_

Dearka kept intruding on his thoughts. The mission to take down the Strike and the Legged Ship should be consuming his entire attention, but the uneasiness he felt around Dearka kept seeping back into his mind. The night in the hospital with Dearka had left him feeling confused and lonely. Which was ridiculous, because Dearka was with him, as he always was; so how could he be feeling lonely for him? Nevertheless, the feeling wouldn't go away.

Yzak sighed harshly. He was not much inclined to the softer emotions; he knew this about himself. But now, somehow, he had turned into an emotional jelly over Dearka.

That nightmare fall through the atmosphere was the beginning of it. He really thought he'd lost Dearka when he didn't respond to his calls. He'd pushed the Duel's thrusters beyond safe limits to get to him in time. He frankly hadn't cared at that moment if he risked a catastrophic systems failure in the Duel.

He could still feel the fear in the pit of his stomach as he cracked open Buster's cockpit when they got down. And the overwhelming relief that flooded through him when he saw Dearka was still breathing. By the time rescue had come from Gibraltar, Yzak himself wasn't in very good shape. But somehow he'd hung on to consciousness. The urge to protect Dearka drove him. And at the hospital that night, Dearka seemed to need him, too. The desperation in Dearka's voice, calling his name over and over, triggered some strong emotion in him. He couldn't put a name to it…He just knew that he would do anything,… anything, to rescue Dearka from the demons that chased him.

The thought suddenly connected: _It's why people run into burning buildings for their loved ones…._

Yzak came to an abrupt halt in the corridor. _Oh_s_hit…Dearka…loved one? _

The idea was unbearable. With a burst of profanity he sought the only release available, and smashed his fist into the nearest glass window. Thoughtful ZAFT military architects had specified high impact glass for the Gibraltar Base. It could withstand super-tungsten artillery shells. There was no risk Yzak would break anything, accept maybe the bones of his hand, again. The pain and profanity simply helped to relieve his overwrought nerves.

He glared at a couple of girl soldiers who looked at him in shock and scurried past on the far side of the corridor. _You don't have time for this…this…mental aberration. Get a grip. _He stood there for a little, taking deep breaths and gently probing his abused hand with the other. Throbbing, but nothing broken. The glove had probably helped a bit.

_Right, forget that crazy thought. Time to pick up the pace. There could be news of the Strike waiting, and you're fucking around in this corridor…._

**Gibraltar Base Barracks Room**

Yzak was disgusted to find Dearka asleep on his bed when he got back to their room. He was tempted to dump him out of it as punishment for failing to keep watch. But there was no message light blinking on the com-unit, so really no harm had been done. He stood by Dearka's bed for a couple of minutes, watching him sleep. Then with a sigh, he pulled a blanket off his own bed and draped it over the other boy. Propping his head up with a pillow against the wall behind him, Yzak set himself up to watch and wait. And to try not to think.

Yzak became aware of a strong smell of coffee and his eyes prised themselves open. He found a steaming mug was being held a few inches from his nose by a smiling Dearka. "Hah, thought that might bring you round."

"Stupid arsehole. What would have happened if I'd sat up suddenly? I'd be looking at blisters down my chest and you'd be looking for some of your teeth on the floor."

"Lighten up, Yzak. Nothing happened. I think you really need this coffee! You've been asleep for about two hours."

Yzak grudgingly took the re-offered mug. After a couple of swallows he grunted thanks at Dearka, who simply smiled and slurped his own. He had some magazines and a couple of small shopping bags spread across his bed. He tossed one of the bags over to Yzak.

"What's this then?"

"While you were getting your beauty sleep I decided to go for a walk around the corridors. There's a little place near the mess-hall where they sell toiletries and magazines. I got us toothpaste, shaving stuff, the usual. And have a look at this, will you?" This is published by some Natural outfit. We don't get these in the PLANTs. Look at the centrefold! He proffered the glossy magazine he had been flicking through. Yzak's lips compressed. The usual array of carefully posed naked young women was in evidence.

"I don't know why you bother with that rubbish."

"Everybody's entitled to a hobby, Yzak" Dearka grinned back at him.

"Hmmph!" was the only reply.

The silence was suddenly broken by the signal from the com-unit. Yzak was off his bed in an instant, punching the response button.

"Recorded video transmission for Dearka Elsman, Le Creuset Team, from Supreme Council Member Tad Elsman. Are you able to receive at this time?" asked Communications.

Yzak stepped away from the unit in disappointment. Dearka got off the bed and positioned himself where the com-unit's internal camera would be able to pick up his image. He identified himself by name and code number. "Ready to receive transmission now."

His father's image appeared. "Hello, son. Sorry I can't talk to you in person but there are a series of crucial meetings taking place within certain Council subcommittees. Regrettably, I have only a small amount of time to record this. I am glad to hear that you arrived safely on Earth and have largely recovered from your ordeal. Your Commander was kind enough to send me a message earlier, that he had spoken to you, and that all was well.

Yzak, if you are watching this with Dearka, please accept my thanks for what you did for my son. I am in your debt." With this, Elsman senior bowed his head; the sort of acknowledgment normally given only between adults who were also peers. It was unprecedented for him to make such a gesture to his son's teenage friend.

"Your mother has asked me to send you her love, Yzak. She is even more tied up than I am at the moment, but will be in touch with you as soon as circumstances permit."

His image smiled tiredly from the screen. "They're making hurry-up gestures at me from outside the viewer range, so I think my time must be up. You boys look after each other. Send us messages when you can."

The image winked out.

Dearka had split his attention between his father's message and watching Yzak. It was one of many curious things about Yzak: he avidly sought official accolades and gloated over defeated rivals, yet he didn't cope very well with direct personal compliments. He always got that blank, stuffed look, when anybody praised him to his face. He had that look now. Dearka grinned to himself. His father's gesture of respect must have hit a nerve. Only Yzak could manage to be simultaneously shy and an arrogant egotist!

"Well," Dearka drawled, "Looks like you have carte blanche to break my speaker system again and get away with it this time round!" This was a reference to a slightly notorious incident from five years earlier, which had entered into legend between them.

"Bastard! I've been telling you for years. It simply malfunctioned and I tried to fix it. It wasn't my fault!"

Dearka smiled but decided not push it. Yzak looked tired, despite his unintended nap, and a tired Yzak could be very grouchy indeed, if pressed.

"Hey, Yzak. You going to come and eat with me in the mess-hall? They were just starting to serve the evening meal when I got the coffee there."

"You go ahead. I'll take a turn when you come back."

"Aw, Yzak. Come and eat with me. It won't take that long. It's more fun with company."

"No. Word about the Strike could come through at any time. One of us should be on hand. Don't be an arsehole. Go eat!"

Dearka duly left to bolt down a hasty meal in the noisy mess-hall. Yzak could be such a pain sometimes…

When he returned to the room he found a transformed Yzak glowing with justification and renewed purpose.

"The Strike and the Legged Ship have been reported in North Africa. They're in the desert somewhere outside the ZAFT outpost in a place called Banadiya. Our local forces have already been in contact with the enemy but there's no video coverage available, just a brief report that the action took place. Apparently there's some sort of local underground anomaly: caves or mines, that makes the N-Jammer interference worse in that area, so communication is particularly bad."

Yzak had both computer terminals in operation. One displayed a map of the area around Banadiya; the other showed a picture of a ZAFT ground commander with some details of his service record.

"Well, so now we know!" said Dearka with satisfaction. He wandered over to the second computer. "Who's the guy?"

"Andrew Waltfeld. Commander of the ZAFT forces in Banadiya. Something of a local legend. They call him the Desert Tiger."

"Hey, yeah. I've heard of him. They say he's a brilliant strategist. Kind of quirky, though."

"Well, you are going to get an opportunity to meet him. I'll see the Transport Commander here and get us listed for the next convoy going to Banadiya. Waltfeld's already reported some losses. He's going to need re-supply soon. We'll catch a ride with them."

"That's great Yzak, but don't you think you should go eat now? I'll come with you and have some more coffee, seeing as how there's no need for one of us to be stuck in this room anymore."

"You go. I want to go over these reports…."

"Yzak, you've got to eat! Tell me, what was the last meal that you remember, that didn't come out of a hospital drip line?"

Yzak opened his mouth, and then looked startled. "Back on the Vesalius…."

"Yeah, right!" said Dearka sardonically. "Time to hit the mess-hall don't you think?

If you carry on like this, you're going to pass out on me. And then the doctors will get on our case again." Yzak grudgingly allowed himself to be persuaded.

Dearka watched Yzak out of the corner of his eye as they stalked down the corridor to the mess-hall together. He was puzzled. Despite the excitement about the Strike and the usual Joule bravado, why did he get the feeling that something was amiss with Yzak?


	4. Chapter 4

**Gibraltar Barracks Room** (later in the night)

Dearka couldn't work out what had awoken him. For the space of three breaths he lay there in bed looking at the room bathed in moonlight. He hadn't bothered to pull the curtains when they returned from the mess-hall. Yzak had hit a wall of exhaustion once he finally ate, and had got wobbly on his legs, just walking back. When they reached their room, Dearka had stripped him down to his underwear and rolled him into bed, with only token protests from the other boy. In truth, Dearka had not been that much better himself. He'd just killed the lights, undressed, and crawled into his own bed. The time on the com-unit now read 3 a.m.

_So_ _what woke me?_

Suddenly a moan and muttered words came from Yzak's side of the room. Dearka lay perfectly still, and began to grin to himself. Was the normally super-inhibited Yzak Joule jerking off? What a golden opportunity for revenge for those embarrassing times in Dearka's past when Yzak had caught him at the same pastime and made his life a misery.

In the next moment the smile was wiped away as a distinct sob emerged from the huddle on Yzak's bed.

_What the fuck is going on?_ "Hey, Yzak. Are you OK?"

Silence.

"Yzak!"

Still nothing, though maybe there was some stirring of the bedclothes.

Dearka got out of bed and slipped over to Yzak's. The moonlight unfortunately didn't quite penetrate the shadow around Yzak's bed. Dearka reached down and shook a thin muscular shoulder. It was trembling.

"Yzak, Yzak, what's the matter? Are you OK?"

Maybe it was some sort of delayed reaction. Yzak had not really had much rest even at the hospital…

Suddenly Yzak uncoiled from the bedclothes and sat bolt upright.

"Dearka? What the hell do you want?"

"You were making noises. I thought you might be sick."

"What do you mean, 'noises'?"

"Like - distressed sort of noises. Yzak, what's going on?"

Yzak wearily finger-combed his tangled hair back from his face. "Nothing's going on. You made a mistake, is all. I'm fine."

Something urged Dearka not to let this go. He sat down on the side of Yzak's bed.

"Hey, get off my bed you great lummox!"

"No, I'm not going anywhere, till I find out what's up with you."

There was a long uncomfortable silence. Then from Yzak, as if teeth were being pulled: "A dream."

"What dream?"

Dearka was surprised at Yzak's response to his question. It had none of the sarcasm or self-protective hostility he normally would have got from Yzak in such circumstances:

"I was re-living the descent, only this time I couldn't get to you. We were both falling but you seemed to be much faster than me. I could see Buster way below, like a glowing ember. Then the ember went out. And I knew you were dead. And I felt…..bad."

"Is that why you were crying?"

"Was I crying?" Yzak sounded genuinely bewildered. Dearka reached into the shadow and stroked a couple of fingers across the curve of Yzak's cheek. Yzak flinched. Dearka turned his hand and showed the other the moisture, in the gleam of the moonlight.

"Yeah, you've been crying, all right."

Yzak just shook his head in bewilderment." I don't remember." His voice sounded dead.

Acting on instinct, Dearka pulled him into hug. He felt Yzak stiffen in his arms. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?"

"Trying to make you feel better."

The simple reply seemed to stun Yzak for a moment; then he found his voice. "Let me go, you moron. I am not some little kid that needs comforting."

Dearka laughed and actually tightened his arms a bit.

"Hell, Yzak. You don't have to pretend with me. I'm the guy whose hand you had to hold all night in the hospital, remember? Sometimes, you just have to have somebody to hang on to."

For a moment Dearka thought Yzak would pull out of his arms, but suddenly the tension went out of him. Dearka felt Yzak's arms go round him and hug him in return. They sat in there in silence for what seemed a long time. Dearka began to feel the strain of sitting in the slightly twisted position.

"Uh, Yzak. I have to move."

Yzak, who must also have been quite uncomfortable, obviously didn't care. He wordlessly shook his head and burrowed deeper against Dearka.

"Look, I'll just move up the bed a bit, so I lie straight with something behind me, OK?"

Dearka swung his legs on to the bed and pushed himself up it, gouging one of Yzak's pillows behind him as he went, till it was sandwiched between his back and the wall. Yzak shuffled up with him to maintain their relative positions. He showed no signs of wanting to move away. With a little wriggling, Dearka made himself comfortable, and Yzak nestled back into place. Dearka's arms firmed a little around the boy's back and shoulders. _That's right, don't move. You are welcome to stay right where you are. I want you here with me._

Dearka began to move a heavy lazy hand in circles on Yzak's back. For a moment Yzak tensed, and then with a little sigh, relaxed even more deeply into Dearka's embrace. They lay like that for a long time. The silence was the most comforting thing Dearka had experienced since they fell to Earth. For the first time he felt as if his mind was clear, except all he wanted to think about was Yzak, and how good it felt just to be here with him like this.

_What is going on here?_

It was almost as if Yzak could read his mind, or maybe he was puzzling over the same question. "Dearka, do you think we're cracking up?"

Dearka drew a deep breath while he thought about the question. "Remember those lectures we had back in the ZAFT Academy about combat stress? It can manifest itself in lots of different ways. I guess you could argue we're prime candidates for it at the moment. Consider how we're fixed: we're isolated from our unit and commander, dependent on each other in an alien environment, facing a dangerous enemy…Yeah, guess you could make a case for us cracking up, Yzak."

"You seem to remember a lot from those lectures. You always had your eyes closed during them – I thought you were asleep for most of the time." Although still slightly strained, Yzak's voice sounded a lot more normal now.

"Yeah, well, I had an ulterior motive for paying attention." Dearka felt embarrassed now to admit why.

"Which was?"

"Um. I had this half-baked notion that it might prove useful to get girls. You know, play the sympathy card about the poor combat-stressed pilot needing a little feminine comfort…"

Dearka both felt and heard the shaky laughter that came from Yzak. "You are a sick bastard, Elsman. You know that don't you?"

He had a sudden flashback to a certain scene in the hospital and couldn't hold back his own laugh. "Well, what about you and the quartermaster's clerk?"

He had woken up at the hospital to the sound of Yzak on the phone. He could only hear Yzak's end of the conversation, but it was easy enough to fill in the other side of the dialogue.

"Yes, I said, Joule. J-O-U-L-E. Same spelling as Ezalia Joule, the Supreme Council Member. Yes, that's right."

"I've given you our names and numbers. Get the details of our sizes out of the damn personnel database. And get those uniforms over here within an hour or you will live to regret it, soldier!"

"Well if you're just there for emergencies you'd better get ready for one. I **am** an emergency as far as you're concerned! If I have to go over there with my arse hanging out of this hospital gown, I will. And it will be the last thing you will ever see, because I will gouge your fucking eyeballs out and force them down your damn throat!"

"No, I'm sure violence will not be necessary. Good. Don't forget the boots, too. Thank you so much."

Yzak disconnected. "Arsehole."

Yzak dug his chin sharply into Dearka's chest by way of protest. "There was nothing underhand in my dealings with that guy!"

"Yeah, but I doubt he'd testify in your favour at a sanity hearing. Especially when you greeted him at the door when he delivered the stuff, with that sheet wrapped round you like a toga. It was probably the bandaged head that really put the wind up him, though. I bet he thought you'd hit your head and were unstable. He was sure glad to dump the clothes and go." Dearka chuckled at the memory of the soldier's strained face, gazing at the strangely draped Joule boy.

"I should have told the doctor how you got our uniforms. Poor bastard looked as if he could use a good laugh."

"I don't like doctors, and I certainly don't want to socialise with one. The less they know about you, the better."

"Aw, c'mon, Yzak. He wasn't such a bad sort. Actually, I think he felt sorry for us."

"Sorry for us? Why the hell would anybody be sorry for us?"

"Beats me, Yzak. The world is full of strange people"

Yzak wriggled. "I have to get up and piss."

Dearka relaxed his arms. "Be my guest."

Yzak got up out of the bed and stood beside it looking down at Dearka. "I'm all right now. You can go back to your own bed."

"Do you want me to?"

Yzak hesitated, then shrugged. "Don't care. Up to you."

"Well, I'll stay then. I'm kind of comfortable here. If you don't want to join me, you can always use my bed instead."

Yzak didn't say another word, just left for the bathroom. Dearka lay propped where he was for a moment, then slid a little more comfortably down into the bed. _Wonder if Yzak will call my bluff?_

He had his answer a little later when Yzak slipped back into bed. "Move your big lummox body."

"Ouch! There was no reason to use your elbow, Joule. You just have to say you want more space."

"Shut up and go to sleep. And Dearka?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks."

"G'night, Yzak."


	5. Chapter 5

**Gibraltar Barracks Room** (the following morning)

A muzzy Dearka emerged from an erotic dream in which his hands held slender hips against his own. The delicious feeling of a warm responsive body pressed against the swelling in his crotch….

Reality exploded in a sequence of split-second flashes: realisation that he was awake; that he was indeed pressing a warm body against him; and that blazing anger was driving sleep from the face of Yzak Joule as he wrenched out of Dearka's clasp.

The next thing Dearka knew was Yzak's fist smashing into his face, while its owner screamed at him: "What the hell do you think you're doing? You stupid fuckwit! You and your pornographic dreams..." The words were accompanied by kicks, the second of which shot Dearka out of the bed, simultaneously catching him in the groin. He sank in agony on the floor, while Yzak knelt above him on the bed and raved. "You are dead, Elsman, dead!"

Feeling sick, Dearka croaked "I was dreaming about a girl! I'm a normal horny teenager. I can't be held responsible for what I do in my sleep, Yzak!"

"Arsehole! If you didn't read those bloody magazines all the time you wouldn't be this way."

Yzak swept into the bathroom; the blasting of the shower could be heard within seconds of his entrance. On the floor, Dearka gave way to a wracking fit of vomiting.

He was still sitting there with his back hunched against the bed, holding a hand over his eyes against the morning sun, when Yzak returned. Now neat and well-groomed in his red coat, he stood with his hands on his hips for a moment, looking down at the spectacle Dearka presented. His lip curled. "An appropriately sordid setting for you Elsman." He then stalked out without another word.

Dearka sat on the floor till enough of the pain had subsided and then got slowly to his feet.

He felt sick all over again as memory replayed the dream fragment and Yzak's reaction. How the hell had that happened? Yzak had looked so angry and….hurt?

_Oh shit. How am I going to talk my way out of this?_

**Corridors**

Yzak stalked in the direction of the mobile suit hangar. The scowl on his face ensured that nobody in the bustling corridors spoke to him, or encroached on his personal space. Not that he saw any of the people that he swept past; his mind was taken with trying to come to terms with what had happened in the room he shared with Dearka.

Or rather, used to share with Dearka. As would be the case as soon as he got an opportunity to have his accommodation changed. They could put him in a maintenance cupboard in his present frame of mind, and so long as it did not have Dearka Elsman in it, he would consider it luxurious.

The last thing he remembered was falling asleep beside Dearka after they had held each other. His face burned painfully now at that memory. It had felt so good to be held by him…

Yzak's pace slowed as he wrestled with unfamiliar and painful feelings. Just what did he truly feel for Dearka Elsman?

**_I love him_**. He had already acknowledged this in some part of his mind; the part with no words, just raw emotions. Now he dragged it into the light and set it in stone with words, at least those spoken in his own mind.

If he loved Dearka, it necessarily followed that he, Yzak, was gay. He tried the flavour of the word on his tongue. He had never thought of himself in those terms; he had never been attracted to a guy before. _But you haven't been attracted to any girls, either, have you?_

Pain and pleasure were so cross-wired in his brain, that the whole issue of sexual attraction had seemed irrelevant. Maybe at seventeen that wasn't normal, either. But not everybody started panting after the opposite sex from the age of twelve like Dearka had!

And right there was the central problem. Dearka Elsman was a girl-crazed arsehole. That meant this morning's little fiasco wasn't aimed at Yzak, just Dearka fantasizing about a girl, as he said. That simply compounded the humiliation. The bastard. And the worst of it was that Yzak had felt himself tightening with pleasure, reacting to the contact with Dearka's body, in that brief interval before he was fully awake and realised what was happening. Sick with rage, and desperate to get away, he'd fled into the shower…

How could they continue to share a room? The idea of separation from Dearka was painful. But what choice did he have? Bad enough, that as members of the same team, they would still have to work and fight together. With these new raw feelings, to continue to be around Dearka all the time was folly. He would do something to betray himself. Dearka was bright that way. Yzak's pace slowed to a crawl. He stared unseeing, at the floor. Could he function without Dearka after all these years?

**Gibraltar Base Mess-Hall**

Dearka sat sipping hot black coffee. The uneaten breakfast he kept on the table in front of him would ensure that he was left unmolested by the serving orderlies for some time yet. He needed time and caffeine to work out what had happened, and what he could do to fix it.

He tried to relive the events of the morning in as much detail as he could recall. He remembered waking up the first time: an unusual sense of well-being had told him that for once he had slept his fill. Somehow, on the Vesalius, there was never enough time for everything, and sleep was one of the first things sacrificed.

He could recall gazing drowsily at Yzak's pale arm lying across his chest. He'd remembered then that he was not on the Vesalius; he and Yzak were stuck on Earth.

He'd dreamily watched Yzak sleep beside him. The scar was hidden by the way he'd lay on his side. He'd looked beautiful, like a sleeping angel.

Dearka smiled into his now cooling coffee dregs; nobody who had the smallest acquaintance with the waking Yzak would ever be able to entertain that comparison, of course. It seemed a pity that looks like those should be wasted on a male.

That triggered another memory. He distinctly recalled lying there and thinking: _You are so beautiful._ _If only you were a girl, Yzak…._ Some time after that he had dozed off again.

_So that's how I came to be dreaming like that? Was I dreaming of Yzak as a girl, or some girl as Yzak? _

Dearka stared into his coffee cup. So, on some level he had known that it was Yzak there with him. Had the groundwork for this been laid when they were cuddling in bed last night? He had meant it as no more than an offer of simple comfort. Well, that is what he had been certain of at the time. The human mind was sneaky though, it could so easily lie to itself about motives for doing things. _Am I attracted to Yzak?_

At this singularly inopportune moment a shadow fell across him. Looking up, he found one of the mess-hall staff, deferential but determined. "I'm sorry, sir. We need to clear this table now." Dearka pasted a smile on his face, nodded, and made a hasty exit.

**Barracks Room**

He returned to the room though he did not have any real hope that Yzak would have come back. Sure enough, it was the same as he had left it: Yzak's still unmade bed, the damp patch where he had cleaned the floor, the condensation from his shower….

Dearka blinked. Another memory had lurched into focus. When he took his shower, there had been no residual warmth from the one Yzak took. No evidence of steam in the air. There should have been; the time interval between them was not great. There could only be one explanation. Yzak had taken a cold shower. Why? He was not in the habit of doing so. Shit. Had Yzak been aroused by what had happened between them, and killed the unwanted reaction with cold water? The more Dearka thought about the possibility, the more likely it seemed. Perhaps the dream memory of a **responsive **body had not been all just dream….

Dearka sat on the rumpled bed and ran his hands through his hair. _Oh, Yzak._ _I think we are both getting into deep water here. I need to talk with you about this, very badly._

Dearka determined to go after Yzak and have a heart to heart talk with him. From long experience, he knew the default setting for Yzak's personality, when things were bad: after any big emotional upset (read temper tantrum), Yzak got an overwhelming need to plunge himself into single-minded hard work, sometimes to the point of exhaustion. The mobile suit hangar was therefore the most likely place where he could corner Yzak.

**Mobile Suit Hangar**

He ran his quarry to earth very easily, as Yzak was standing in front of the Duel, berating a mechanic about some minor error of maintenance that he had detected.

"Hey, Yzak. I need to talk with you."

Yzak looked stonily at him. "I don't have time to talk. You don't either. You should be working on the Buster."

"Yzak, we've got to sort this out. Come back to the room and let's discuss it. I think it's important."

The mechanic was still standing there, with the slightly glassy-eyed look of someone who didn't want to be acknowledged as being present. There was obviously some sort of fight brewing between those two and he wanted no part of it. All mobile suit pilots were a bit odd, but the silver-haired kid was downright scary.

Yzak abruptly snarled at the mechanic. "You – get the hell back to work. I'll talk to you later." The mechanic gratefully fled. He'd just noticed the bruise on the blonde one's jaw, and definitely didn't want to be around for whatever was going to happen next.

Yzak gave Dearka a long thoughtful stare. He suddenly seemed more resigned than angry, though Dearka wasn't sure how he knew this, as there was absolutely no clue in the other's expressionless face. "Right. We'll go and get this over with, shall we."

And with that Yzak strode off.

Dearka walked side by side with Yzak, as they retraced their steps back to the room where the trouble had all begun. Neither spoke. Yzak kept his gaze straight ahead, looking neither right nor left. Not so much as glancing at Dearka, who kept watching his profile, trying to work out what was going on in his mind. Dearka's palms were sweating as they approached the room. He had a terrible feeling that his whole relationship with Yzak might be riding on what passed between them in the next few minutes. And the thought of what might happen, that he might loose Yzak, sent a sick panic through him. Somehow they had to find a way to work through this…whatever it was….


	6. Chapter 6

**Barracks Room**

Yzak stood with his hands on his hips, glaring at Dearka from the centre of the room. Dearka had immediately retreated to his bed on entering, and sat there watching him in silence.

Yzak stepped closer to the bed. "Well? It was your idea to have this talk. Let's hear from you!"

"Yzak, I don't know of any subtle way to say this, so I'll just come straight out with it. This morning when I -"

"When you molested me while I was sleeping?" Yzak sarcastically interrupted.

Dearka flushed. "Hell, Yzak. Just give me a chance, will you? This is bloody hard for me to say!"

Yzak's lips pressed together in anger but he made a 'go ahead' gesture with his hand, as if he didn't trust himself to speak at that moment.

"When I did…what I did, I wasn't really awake. But I don't think I was fully asleep, either. What I'm trying to say is that…it wasn't some dream girl I was feeling up. It was you." Dearka suddenly felt sick and buried his face in his hands.

There was a silence that seemed to go on forever, and then he felt Yzak standing over his bowed head. His voice was expressionless: "What are you saying Dearka?"

Dearka's throat felt constricted, like he might choke on tears that he didn't dare shed, but he forced the words out anyway. It was too late now for anything other than honesty. His friendship with Yzak might well be killed by this, whatever he said or did now. "You were lying beside me. I could feel your warmth….and I was hard and …needy. You must know what that's like sometimes. I was…the impulse….just came over me…"

"And I just happened to be handy?" The words sounded bitter but they were spoken in a flat calm voice.

"No! Not like that. I was half dreaming, half awake. It was like all my inhibitions had gone…I think I was doing something that subconsciously I've been wanting to do for a while. My mind just found a way to slide it past my mental filters by making it seem unreal."

"Dearka, look at me."

It took all his nerve to raise his head and look Yzak in the face.

"How long have you felt like this?"

Dearka shook his head. "I – don't know. Maybe since we fell here."

Yzak's eyebrows rose. "Remember our little talk in the night about combat stress? Do you think the timing is a coincidence?"

"Hell, Yzak. I don't think I know anything anymore. But I have a question to ask you." Dearka swallowed hard, there seemed to be an enormous lump in his throat, suddenly. "Am I the only one feeling this way?"

Yzak looked as though he had been slapped. His eyes dark with unreadable emotion, he stared down into Dearka's upturned face. "I should punch you in the face again for saying that."

Dearka raised his chin. "I'm ready for it. Go ahead."

No blow landed. Instead Yzak's hand cupped and tilted the chin gently, so he could look at the bruise now staining Dearka's warm brown skin. "I think I may have hit you enough for one day," he said tiredly. "You're right. You aren't the only one."

Dearka blushed scarlet. Yzak laughed slightly bitterly and dropped his hand. He walked away across the room, putting distance between them. He stood looking out the windows at the bleak scene of concrete runways far below. "I think it would be best if one of us got different accommodation."

Dearka launched himself off the bed. "Hell, Yzak. What are you saying? Do you want to split us up after all these years because we --" He failed to complete the sentence.

Yzak turned and growled at him. "Because we suddenly want to do each other? After ten years of friendship, don't you think that it's a bit strange that this should happen now? This isn't real. It's some sort of stress condition. Or maybe it's something in the air of this fucking planet!"

Dearka stood his ground. "OK, so what if it is? Does it make a difference to who we are? Do you want to throw away what we've got for something that may be simply some passing phase? Hell, Yzak. We're teenagers! We're meant to be going through phases. Maybe this would still have happened to us back in the PLANTs, even if there had been no war to turn us into combat pilots and drag us here! Maybe we should just go with it!"

Yzak looked shocked to his very core; his mouth actually dropped open for a moment. If Dearka had not been in such a serious mood he would have laughed; it was a sight to treasure in his mind forever. But he was too busy desperately fighting for the survival of the most important relationship in his life to pay much attention. He knew that if reasoned argument didn't win, his next move would be begging, and he didn't think that showing that much weakness to Yzak would gain him many points.

"Am I hearing Dearka Elsman say this? The Dearka Elsman who has been girl-mad since his balls dropped four years ago, and who would screw anything in a skirt if it stood still long enough?"

Dearka flushed. "There's no need to put it so crudely, Yzak. I like to think I'm a bit more discriminating than that."

"And just what are you proposing for us? A little recreational sex to keep the stress at bay?"

"Why not? Hell, it's not as if we can get each other pregnant, is it?"

Yzak stared for a moment and then doubled over with laughter. Dearka, who had simply said the first thing that came into his head, not really meaning to make a joke of it, gave a sickly grin. But as Yzak's whoops grew more choking and he doubled over, Dearka began to have some concern that this was more hysteria than real laughter. He walked over and put steadying hands on Yzak's shoulders. Yzak straightened and gradually regained control. His face was flushed and eyes wet, though it was hard to say with what kind of tears.

They looked at each other for a long moment of silence. Then, daringly, Dearka pulled him into a light embrace and gave him a gentle kiss on the lips.

Yzak didn't pull away, but he didn't respond, either. He seemed introspective, even sad. Dearka would have given a great deal to know what thoughts were going through the silver head at that moment.

Dearka stood with his arms still loosely round the other boy. "Yzak?"

"ZAFT military regulations don't specify against homosexual relations as such. But you may recall that they do forbid sexual relationships between personnel serving in the same unit. It is considered bad for military discipline."

Dearka winced in his mind at Yzak's application of the word 'homosexual' to themselves. He was careful to not let that show on his face, as he said: "I cannot believe this! Here I am trying to seduce you, and you just quoted ZAFT military regulations at me! You don't have an ounce of romance in your soul, do you Joule! I say 'screw the military regulations.' I bet a lot of people have relationships, no matter what the rules say."

Yzak slowly smiled; his blue eyes were no longer cold and thoughtful, but glittering with some intense emotion. "OK….Screw the regulations!" And he stepped closer into Dearka's embrace.

Their arms closed hungrily round each other and Dearka's mouth claimed Yzak's in a kiss that was desperate for reassurance that this was real. Somehow Dearka had managed to pull it off. He felt almost giddy with relief. _Just let me be with you Yzak. Don't throw me away. I'd get lost out there…._ And then coherent thought shut down as the taste and feel of Yzak filled his senses.

For Yzak, the world seemed to fall away, leaving just Dearka and the sensations of his body. He felt Dearka's hand slide to the crotch of his uniform, and his fingers flex there. Yzak's breath caught, at the pulse of pleasure from his groin. He moaned into Dearka's mouth. Their tongues were probing and working against each other in a frenzied dance.

His own hand slid between Dearka's legs. He rubbed his palm against the bulging hardness there. Dearka pulled free from their kiss to pant in some air, his hands like vices at Yzak's waist. "Do…do.. that again…please." Yzak obliged. "Uhhhh…"

Suddenly Dearka clamped his hand against Yzak's, to still the movement. His face, hot and sweaty, buried itself in the crook of Yzak's shoulder. "Wait…wait…just a moment. I'm so near the edge…if you keep doing that I just won't last." They stood entwined for several long moments. Then Dearka suddenly swooped and picked Yzak up. A few strides brought them to the bed. Dearka gently deposited Yzak and followed him down. Sprawled across him, he held Yzak's wrists on either side of the pillow. He gazed down into startled blue eyes. "Those hands of yours are kind of dangerous, Joule." Slipping his thigh between Yzak's legs he pressed and rubbed against his crotch. He smiled in satisfaction at Yzak's shuddering response.

Suddenly they were both ravenous for each other. The hands of each were everywhere, stripping away clothing, desperate for skin to skin contact. There were no more words, just the feel and scent of each other: soft skin damp with sweat, lithe muscles, and bodies straining against each other.

Yzak writhed, gasping, on the brink, as Dearka stroked and stroked where his wet mouth had made a slick surface for the glide of his hand….Suddenly the spike of pleasure drove up through Yzak, from groin into brain, and he felt himself spill helplessly over Dearka's hand, all thought dissolving in bliss.

Perhaps he actually blacked out for a second. Returning sight took in details of Dearka's body beside him, which screamed of unreleased tension. Clenched muscles in Dearka's belly gleamed beneath the sweat, and the hand that had given such ecstasy was balled into a fist. Yzak leaned forward. "I'm kind of new at this. Show me what you like…"

"Like I just did you…" Dearka husked. And as Yzak complied, Dearka's hoarse moans filled the room.

Dearka lay sleeping. He'd simply folded up after their love-making. When Yzak protested to the drowsy boy about his lack of stamina, he'd just smiled sweetly and said: "Hell, Yzak. Considering the morning you put me through, it's a wonder I could function at all. Give a guy a chance…." And then his eyes had closed.

Yzak lay on his side, head propped on one hand, gazing pensively at Dearka. _I'm going to get hurt over this, I know it. Some day, you're going to come out of this daze you're in, and go off after some bloody little skirt again. But you're just too much of a temptation to me. I'll take what I can get. I love you, you bastard._

He must have dozed himself then. For the next thing he knew, he was being roused by the sound of the com-unit. Naked, he slipped out of bed, and keyed off the internal camera that would have sent his image, before he hit the response button. If it was a priority call requiring formal face-and-number identification, he would just have to dress and call Communications back. Fortunately, it proved to be a simple internal message from an assistant of the Transport Commander; an efficient girl soldier with whom he'd dealt before.

"Message to Yzak Joule, Le Creuset Team. Preliminary notification: the next convoy for Banadiya will be leaving in 72 hours. You will report to Transport Command for further instructions at 0900 tomorrow. That is all."

He turned, to see that Dearka had also awoken and was sitting up in bed, watching him. Yzak gave a grim smile: "Honeymoon is over!"


	7. Chapter 7

The setting of a departure date for the convoy sent Yzak into a frenzy of work, driving Dearka and the mechanics along with him. It soon became apparent that damage to both the mobile suits from their high-impact landing had proved more extensive than first thought. Duel had also suffered a lot of systems damage due to the overcharging of the thrusters during re-entry; Dearka grew very thoughtful indeed, when he discovered just how much.

There was no way they could have been finished in time to meet the original deadline. In the event, they had another nine days. The convoy was postponed, while Transport Command struggled to find the replacement BCOWs that Waltfeld requested. Yzak had come back from the TC Office with the announcement, and drawn Dearka into a quieter corner of the busy hangar to tell him.

"Well, that's good news for us, at least," said Dearka bracingly.

"I'm not so sure. If Waltfeld's losing BCOWs like that, he's really struggling to contain the Strike. The Legged Ship could break out of there, and we'd miss our chance. That bastard in Strike could get away again, dammit!"

Yzak's face was flushed with anger. He looked as if he was working up to one of his tantrums, when he would have to lash out at something to unleash his feelings. Dearka short-circuited the process by placing his hands on Yzak's shoulders and giving a loving squeeze. This had become their private signal: the nearest they could come in public to an embrace or hug. _Relax. It's going to be all right. Calm down. I'm here for you._ It worked this time, too.

As Dearka's gloved hands slipped from the shoulders of the rather grubby overalls that Yzak had borrowed from one of the slighter mechanics, Yzak gave him a ragged smile, but at least looked less wound up. "You realise why they're having trouble getting Waltfeld's BCOWs, though? The big operation that's coming up must be pulling in a lot of the available ZAFT resources here on Earth. If they're that far along with the preparations, then Commander Le Creuset will be coming down soon. We'll loose our chance for an independent attack. He's bound to bring Zala and Amalfi with him. I want to do this while they're not in the picture!"

"Yeah," growled Dearka, nodding emphatic agreement. He felt the same way, but all they could do was complete the work on their mobile suits as quickly as possible, and then wait on events.

The days passed in a blur. What little waking time the boys didn't spend in the mobile suit hangar, was grudgingly divided between meals, showers, and going over the rather scanty reports which had come in from Waltfeld: movement of local Resistance vehicles in and around Banadiya, and a Blue Cosmos incident quickly resolved by Waltfeld's men. At least there was no evidence of the Legged Ship going anywhere, yet.

Their nights were spent exploring each others bodies and getting just enough sleep to survive on. Dearka had never been more physically content. The tentative boy/girl relationships and occasional one-night stands, which had fallen to his lot in the past, had never really met his needs. He now appreciated just how deprived he had been before Yzak.

Yzak was a revelation. Dearka had always thought of him as being extremely inhibited. Exactly what kind of sexual inclinations Yzak had been repressing had been one of the many Yzak Joule mysteries; one that had now been fully resolved. He took to learning the techniques of lovemaking, with all the single-minded attention he brought to weapons-practice.

Dearka had smiled dirtily to himself at the Freudian overtones of the thought when it occurred to him, and decided wisely not to share it with his sometimes cranky lover. The delay in getting to grips with their quarry was definitely wearing on Yzak's nerves, despite the release from physical tension that Dearka was able to give him.

**Barracks Room **(late afternoon)

The reappointed day for the convoy's departure had at last arrived. They finished their final preparations, with enough time for a decent meal and some sleep. They were due to take off in the early hours of the next morning. Yzak went directly back to their room from the final checks in the mobile suit hangar; Dearka detoured to a couple of vending machines he'd found in the corridors, where he bought a quantity of packaged cookies and candy bars. The thought of a long flight in a lumbering mobile suit transport plane, with only ZAFT emergency rations to nibble, definitely did not appeal to him. He bought enough for Yzak, too; he knew he would never condescend to admit to wanting anything like that, but some of them would still disappear while in his immediate vicinity during the journey.

When Dearka came through their door, he heard the com-unit in operation. From his position, he could hear but not see Ezalia Joule on the screen: "….and this would be invaluable. Not just for the present advantages, but after the war as well. A lifetime of favourable publicity can be garnered from having that sort of story associated with one's name."

Yzak heard Dearka walk into the room behind him, and turned half way round to greet him with a wave. "Ah, Mother, Dearka just came in. Sorry, I'll have to go now."

His mother smiled fondly. "That's all right, Yzak. I quite understand."

Dearka was outside her viewer range, but she smiled vaguely into the middle distance by way of acknowledging his presence: "Hello, Dearka. You will be pleased to know that your father is quite well. Do you have any messages for him?"

Dearka spoke loudly so the com-unit mike would pick up his words from across the room: "Uh, thanks Ms Joule. Just say hello for me, and tell him that I'm fine."

"I'll do that. Very well, I'll be in touch again soon, Yzak. Be careful. End communication." And she was gone.

Dearka raised his eyebrows quizzically at Yzak, but he knew better than to put his question into words. Sometimes one got more information out of Yzak by giving him a silence to fill. Such proved to be the case on this occasion. Yzak looked vaguely annoyed, though his face still had the softened look it usually got in his mother's presence.

"Mother was just dishing out a little advice about my hypothetical future political career. She feels a victory against the Strike or the Legged Ship will create a 'legend' about whoever achieves it; the sort of thing that stays in voters' memories."

"War-hero stuff, eh?" offered Dearka, dumping his junk food on the bed and sorting it into two piles.

"Apparently there have been rumours circulating widely in the PLANTs, about the Strike, in particular. Censorship has prevented any real information getting out, but it's amazing what the grapevine can do. Mother thinks it's a great opportunity."

"How do you feel about that?" said Dearka, tossing Yzak a candy bar of a type he knew he liked. Yzak plucked the flying candy bar out of the air with a snake-like snatch, without even missing a beat in their conversation.

"You **know** how badly I want to take down that fucking Strike… For me, it's strictly personal. I don't share my mother's sense of political calculation." He shrugged, "Don't get me wrong. I take after my mother in a lot of ways; I understand her perspective, but …" Here he seemed to get suddenly lost in thought.

"Try the candy bar" said Dearka, hoping to jog him loose from whatever thought-loop he had got himself stuck in.

It did the trick. "What the fuck are you doing giving me candy, when we haven't had our meal yet? Do you want to spend the rest of the evening hyped up on the sugar in all that crap?"

**Barracks Room** (later that night)

They'd had their meal, showered, packed their few things in a couple of small bags, and climbed into bed. They always shared a bed now, just as by unspoken agreement, they always left a desk lamp at one of the computer terminals turned on, with its shade adjusted to give mellow background light to their part of the room. _Two big brave ZAFT pilots who both feel better with their night light _thought Dearka tiredly, lying there looking at its glow.

They had assumed their now regular position, with Dearka on his back, cuddling Yzak face-down against his chest. Dearka's mind drifted over the work they had put in on the Duel these last days. _So many of its systems were fried, Yzak. You must have known how close you came to killing yourself for me. And I daren't say a word to you about it. I know how you'll react…._ Dearka abandoned the thought and started to stroke Yzak's back.

Yzak gave a soft sigh, appreciative of the caress, though his thoughts prevented true relaxation. His chance at the Strike was coming at last…._I should've told her I didn't give a shit about publicity. I just want to see that bastard go down. But what would be the use…Damn you Mother dear, for breeding me as your political candidate…._

It had been like that as long as he could remember. His mother's political ambitions for him had been the thread that ran through everything in his childhood. _At least it brought me Dearka…_the thought drifted into his mind. With it came memory of his seventh birthday party. An event arranged by his mother to entertain a glittering array of her political friends and contacts, while a select group of their similar-aged offspring attended a children's birthday party, in another wing of the Joule mansion.

The problem of course had been that Yzak didn't really like other children. He had no friends at school and was only slightly acquainted with the kids his mother had summoned to the charade of a birthday party. A couple of them were complete strangers in fact, including a slightly chubby blonde boy, with brown skin and laughing violet eyes. Yzak had disliked him on sight.

"Say, Dearka. Do you remember when we met?"

"Yeah, sure. Never forget that day. What's suddenly made you think of that?"

"Oh, I don't know. Just floated into my mind for some reason. I didn't like the look of you at all, you know!"

Dearka laughed. "Yeah, well, I can't say I was impressed with you, either. More puzzled, I guess."

"Puzzled?"

"Well, I'd never seen another kid with your coloured hair, plus you were wearing a black velvet bow-tie. It made me want to pull it off your neck to see what it was."

"Bastard. I remember you did, later, during the fight."

Dearka nuzzled his face for moment in the top of Yzak's soft hair. "Yzak, you can't get angry with me retrospectively after ten years! I was six, for pity's sake."

Yzak couldn't remember what started their fight. There had been an escalating series of childish insults, irritation fuelled by too much sugar and noisy surroundings, and then they had been rolling around on the floor flailing at each other.

"Who first threw the food? It was one of the girls, but I can't recall her face now."

"Beats me, Yzak. I just remember from fighting one another, we were suddenly in the centre of a circle of other kids, yelling their heads off, and throwing food at us."

"And then you scooped some of it off your shirt and threw it back."

Dearka grinned. "And you just stood there screeching, 'it's in my hair, it's in my hair!'"

Yzak smiled. "It was, too. You said, 'Scrape it out and chuck it back. Let's get 'em!' I remember you were grinning all over your face."

And that's how the party had wound up. Two little boys standing back to back, firing all the food scraps they could lay their hands on, while the group around ducked and yelled and dived for more ammunition of their own from the now wrecked party table.

Nannies and servants had come pouring into the room and broken up the melee.

There were tears, recriminations, forcible baths, parental apologies, the whole messy aftermath. But somehow through it the two little boys had stayed allies, even going through their bath together. Yzak remembered the giggling while his nanny scrubbed with a heavy hand to get cake icing out of his hair. Ordinarily he would have screamed the place down at such treatment, but suddenly with the blonde kid there hooting with laughter, it had seemed funny….He remembered later standing in the driveway watching the Elsman car depart, with Dearka smiling and waving through the back window. He had experienced a sense of emptiness at that moment that he couldn't put a name to at the time. He'd had no vocabulary to describe loneliness.

But the succeeding days brought visits from Dearka, a trip to the park together with their nannies, a life that had slowly built up around companionship with Dearka. Within weeks, Dearka suddenly showed up as a transfer student at his school, and Yzak's new world had clicked into place.

Strange that, about the school; he'd accepted it unquestioningly at the time. But looking back, how had that happened?

"I've never thought about it before, Dearka. But I wonder, how come you transferred to my school not long after that party? Did your father organise it? _Was Mother's hand in it somewhere? Seizing on the chance to acquire a politically useful friendship for her son?_

Dearka chuckled, and ran his fingers deliciously down the groove over Yzak's spine.

"Nah, it was me. I badgered him into it. I wanted to go to the same place you did."

"You never told me that!"

"Yeah, well. I guess I was reluctant to admit how much I wanted to hang round with you. Didn't think it would look cool, I guess."

"Arsehole," said Yzak lovingly.

Their conversation leaked away in dribs and drabs as an uneasy sleep gradually claimed them. Yzak's last coherent thought was of the Strike. And it was his first thought some hours later when they awoke to the com-unit's alert…..It was time: the planes were waiting.


	8. Chapter 8

**Banadiya and environs **

Their aircraft landed in the desert outside Banadiya next day. It disgorged Duel, Buster and some ZUOOTs. The latter were all Transport Command had been able to produce in the end, to replace Waltfeld's lost BCOWs.

Yzak and Dearka stepped straight back into the harsh environment of war, but in a new and alien landscape. Things went badly, right from the first.

The desert itself was a shock. As he stepped out of the aircraft into the baking heat, and a face full of sand blown by an equally hot wind, Dearka couldn't repress a comment about the appalling nature of the place. Waltfeld was there to greet them with one of his officers; Dearka could tell from his tone that the comment hadn't gone down too well.

_Not one of those bastards with a T. E. Lawrence-complex?_ thought Dearka, carefully keeping his face expressionless.

They had barely made themselves known to him, when Waltfeld commented on Yzak's scar, which Dearka thought was damned rude, superior officer or not. And the man was as laconic and unhelpful in person as his reports had been, when asked directly by Dearka for details of his clashes with the Strike. Despite his formal words of welcome, it was apparent that he resented their presence for some reason.

At least he showed that he was ready to face the enemy head-on; he revealed plans for an imminent attack on the Legged Ship which was now on the move. However, his orders for Duel and Buster to remain atop the Lesseps during the assault seemed totally incomprehensible. Yzak went so far as to nearly loose it right there in front of the Commander. Getting a smart remark from Waltfeld's female gunner about their 'losing experience' didn't help. Mercifully, Dearka's hands on Yzak's shoulders once again headed off an explosion of the Joule temper; Waltfeld was not somebody they could afford to alienate. They got out of the situation without an official reprimand, though Waltfeld was glowering as they saluted and left to take up their positions.

The events of that day would always remain with Dearka as a chaotic mix of calamity and shock. They were outfought and outmanoeuvred. The atmosphere shortened the effective striking distance of their beam weapons. And they were overwhelmed by the alien environment of the sand, which sucked at the feet of the mobile suits when they left the Lesseps.

If Dearka hadn't jumped Buster for his life at the last second when a big strike took out the Lesseps, he wouldn't have survived. Waltfeld came off even worse in his final encounter with the Strike. It and the Legged Ship got clean away. It was not one of ZAFT's most shining days of Earth-based warfare.

The day finished on a note of personal horror for Dearka. He saw a group clustered round the remains of Waltfeld's command unit, what little the Strike had left of it. He noted that Waltfeld's deputy officer was directing the group. He stopped Buster and dropped down on the zip line, to report to the now acting-commander for orders.

The scene was pretty sickening. The command unit had exploded; the interior must have been a maelstrom of fire and shrapnel in those last seconds. Dearka got there just as they uncovered the corpses. They were intertwined. It looked as if they had either been embracing, or perhaps one of them had attempted to protect the other with their body. The female gunner had taken the brunt of the fire and was obviously dead. When they pulled her away from Waltfeld's body, somebody suddenly yelled: "DaCosta - he's still breathing!" It hardly seemed possible, even for a coordinator, that a body with that level of injury could still be functioning. His face was a mess, and the limbs on one side seemed to have been blasted away.

What had been body retrieval suddenly became an urgent medical rescue and the place boiled with running men. DaCosta, evidently the name of the acting-commander, was screaming orders, and there was general pandemonium. Dearka decided that he would do best to stay in the background. If somebody wanted him, it was not as if the Buster wasn't easy to find.

Eventually the distracted DaCosta gave orders for the mobile suits to mount one of the remaining ZAFT land battleships. They withdrew to Banadiya in the best order that they could, given the circumstances. DaCosta had Waltfeld flown ahead to Banadiya for urgent medical treatment at ZAFT headquarters. Everyone was on high alert all the way back to Banadiya; the likelihood of a follow-up attack from the Resistance or even Blue Cosmos, was quite high, according to DaCosta.

The sun was setting by the time Dearka and Yzak tiredly made their final descents from the Buster and Duel. They had positioned them within the courtyard of the converted grand hotel which served as ZAFT headquarters. From there they could easily be reached from inside the building, and would provide strategic coverage against any night attack.

Pairs of GINNs would be on patrol all night, DaCosta informed Dearka, in his final hasty exchange with him. He had ordered the transport planes to take Duel and Buster off at dawn. He had enough resources to protect headquarters without them, and now the Legged Ship and Strike had slipped past, there was no need to delay their return to Gibraltar. He himself was going back out to the Lesseps, to see if there was any chance of salvage, before the Resistance or other vultures might descend on the vessel.

Dearka could see DaCosta was obviously under great strain; it appeared he had been deeply affected by what had happened to Waltfeld. Maybe the Commander was all right when you got to know him. He had to have had some admirable qualities: there was a general air of grief and depressed disbelief amongst the other soldiers as well.

Before he left, DaCosta told Dearka that he had not corrected his initial report to Gibraltar, that Waltfeld had been killed. It was probably true, anyway, but if there was any chance of his survival, then DaCosta was not going to endanger him further by sending any kind of communication that he was still alive. Waltfeld was top of the local Blue Cosmos hit list. If they knew he still lived, they might try to attack Banadiya's ZAFT headquarters, in its present state of comparative weakness, in order to finally take him out. DaCosta asked Dearka to not mention Waltfeld still being alive when he got to Gibraltar. If there was anything different to report, they would hear soon enough. Dearka readily agreed.

He didn't have much time to give thought to the matter, he had more immediate concerns. Both Yzak and Dearka had stayed at the ready in Buster and Duel on the ride back to Banadiya, and chatter over the radio was not encouraged when on high alert. Even so, there had been an alarming lack of communication from Yzak all that time. When Dearka saw him after he came down on the zip line, he grew even more worried.

Yzak was white-faced, even by his pale standards, with a burning patch of red over each cheekbone. There was a feverish glisten to his eyes; or maybe they were unshed tears. His lips were compressed and shoulders hunched. He did not greet Dearka and followed him silently up the stairs and into the grand-looking old building.

They were hastily escorted by a distracted soldier, to an upper floor. He handed them the small bags with their personal items, and pointed down the hallway. "There are some spare bedrooms with bathroom facilities down there. Excuse me. I have orders to join the detachment for the Lesseps." He saluted and hurried away.

Dearka walked down the hallway, trying the doors. A couple of the rooms looked occupied, but the third one he found was empty, with a large already made-up bed. Yzak had dawdled behind, putting one foot slowly in front of the other, hands clenched into fists, staring at his feet as he walked.

"Hey, we're in here!" called Dearka. Yzak caught him up and they entered together.

The air was warm and little stale, but the place seemed clean and the bed fresh.

Dearka tossed his bag on the floor and turned to Yzak. "Are you OK? You've not said anything."

"There's nothing to say." The tone was flat but rage simmered in that voice.

"We did our best, Yzak. That bloody sand…."

"Fucking sand…fucking place! I hate this whole fucking planet! I can't…yaaaaah!

The rage, when it started to erupt, seemed to overwhelm Yzak totally. He turned to the nearest wall and began to punch. Dearka was afraid he'd hurt himself badly. He grabbed at his arm but was shaken off with an outburst of profanity. In desperation, Dearka whirled him round and backhanded him across the face.

The force slammed Yzak back against the wall. He seemed transfixed for a moment. Then his arms came up and pulled Dearka into an engulfing embrace, a devouring rough kiss.

Hands pulled frantically at flight suits. They stumbled across the room together, shedding clothing, finding the hot frantic flesh beneath. They crashed onto the bed in a tangle of limbs. Suddenly the panting Yzak was gripping Dearka's upper arms and staring into his eyes. "You know what I want!"

"Yzak!"

" **Now!** - I want you to do it to me **now**, Dearka!"

In all the times they had been together, there was one act of love they had not shared. Dearka had never felt sufficiently attracted to the notion to try it with a girl. He had shrunk from doing it with Yzak, synonymous as it was with the homosexuality that somehow in his secret mind, he had trouble identifying with himself. And above all, he was scared of hurting Yzak. He didn't think he could cope with that. Yzak had tried a couple of times to get him interested, and each time had accepted his lame excuses and let him off the hook. There were many other ways to enjoy each other, after all. But now, Yzak was forcing the issue.

"We don't have any lubricant," Dearka heard himself pleading.

Yzak lay there, panting and dangerous. "There are occupied bedrooms along this hallway. I'm sure you can find some."

"No, Yzak, I-"

"Either we do this, or I go back to the wall and do things my way." Yzak grimaced and closed his eyes; his body was trembling.

Dearka fled, naked. He was lucky the place seemed deserted, apart from them. In the bathroom of the first room he tried, he found what he sought. He noticed women's things scattered about the bedroom as he left. He wondered if the room had belonged to Waltfeld's gunner. He mentally apologised to her spirit for his theft. _If she was Waltfeld's lover as well as comrade, she'll understand…._

He returned, and presented the bottle for Yzak's inspection.

"Come here," said Yzak, spreading a generous amount on his hand. And mesmerised, Dearka gave himself up to Yzak's touch, which had grown skilled and knowing in recent days.

Heavily aroused, aching with need, Dearka still hesitated.

"Dammit, Dearka, do it!"

His voice had the whip-crack of command, and just like on the battlefield, Dearka reacted instantly to the tone in the voice. He thrust himself inside.

Dearka's own groan of pleasure could not drown out Yzak's cry of pain and triumph.

With a massive effort of will, Dearka stopped the second stroke of his hips which every nerve in his body cried out for. "Yzak, are you all right?"

"Just do it…" Yzak moaned. His eyes snapped open and he twisted to stare up into Dearka's worried, tortured face. His hands gripped the bed-sheets in front of him. His body impaled, he was held by Dearka around his waist, against Dearka's thighs.

"Do you want me to beg?" The hoarse plea, so uncharacteristic of Yzak, broke the last strand of Dearka's hesitation. He withdrew and slammed himself back into Yzak, again and again. Deep penetrating strokes that had Yzak writhing and weeping, the tears running down his face to mingle in the sweat of his body. Dearka was mindless now, feeling only the building crescendo. Wave after wave of pleasure pulsed through him, each peak higher than the last, till the final explosion of sensation.

Yzak folded over, agonised with his own pleasure, on the brink, but not quite there. Fighting for control, gasping in air for his oxygen-starved body, Dearka reached round to Yzak's front, and caressed the proud flesh. It gave Yzak that last tiny push into the flames. He gave a raw cry and convulsed.

Dearka slid himself from Yzak's spent body and collapsed, boneless, beside him on the bed. A couple of long deep breaths to find the strength, and then he pushed himself up on an elbow and looked with deepening concern into Yzak's flushed and still slightly breathless face. He lay on his side; his eyes were closed and his hair had tangled across his face. Dearka's gentle hand stroked the silver strands back into place. "Yzak, tell me you're all right! Yzak?"

Yzak's eyes opened and he drew a long breath. "I'm fine. I feel good. That was…I've never felt like that before." He raised a hand to caress the side of Dearka's face. "Thank you for that. I know it wasn't what you wanted, but I **needed** it, Dearka. I was going out of my mind…if you hadn't; I probably would have done something crazy to myself. Again."

Only partially assured by Yzak's words, Dearka sighed. He shifted a little on the bed, and glancing down, noticed blood spots on the sheets. There was more blood coming from Yzak.

"Dammit, Yzak" he grated. "You're bleeding! I've hurt you inside. This is just what I was afraid of!"

Yzak stretched back into the pillows and shook his head. "Don't panic about it. It's nothing serious, I'm sure." He grinned sardonically up into Dearka's face. "I might develop piles some day and have to sit on a rubber cushion, though! Did you know that piles are an occupational hazard among atmospheric military jet pilots? It's because of the g-force turns in planetary gravity."

Dearka looked at him, totally speechless for a moment, and then burst into peels of laughter, which Yzak joined. When they quieted, he leaned forward and kissed Yzak gently on the mouth.

Dearka locked gazes with Yzak. "Tell me what all this was about then, Yzak."

Yzak's eyebrows rose. He responded in a slightly sarcastic drawl: "Surely you've realised by now?"

"Realised what, Yzak?"

Yzak shrugged. "You must have noticed over the years. Sometimes when I get too angry, I need to feel pain….It gives me release. Sometimes it goes beyond release; the line between pain and pleasure gets blurred for me. Today, with everything that happened, I had reached that stage…I needed the pain, as much as I needed the pleasure…Hell, its hard to explain. My brain is kind of cross-wired like that."

Suddenly Dearka had a flashback to when he was first standing in front of Commander Waltfeld. Was it only that morning? It now felt like years ago. He remembered the thought about T. E. Lawrence – Lawrence of Arabia. Dearka had never been that much interested himself, but he recalled Yzak at the age of about twelve, reading the guy's book. He'd even persuaded Dearka to watch some old classic movie version of his desert campaigns. The bit that a fascinated Yzak had watched over and over, was the scene where Lawrence deliberately burned his hand. Dearka felt a surge of pity, which he sharply suppressed. He knew how badly Yzak would react to any hint of such a feeling on his part.

"Why do you feel this way, Yzak?"

Yzak shrugged again. "I'm not sure of the why. I can tell you the when. It was after my twelfth birthday. Something major happened in my life back then, something that I had to deal with. And it is how I coped."

Dearka felt lost. He had been Yzak's friend and confidante through all the years of their growing up together. He remembered nothing from that time that he could call a crisis in his friend's life. What had happened to Yzak that Dearka had not known about?

"Yzak, what did this to you? I don't remember anything back when you were twelve… what happened to you that I didn't know about? Why didn't you tell me?"

The last question definitely had a tone of hurt.

Yzak shook his head. "It wasn't something I could talk about. It involved my mother and it was pretty shattering. It wasn't a deliberate decision to keep you out; it was simply that telling you would have made it more real. And I didn't want that."

Dearka shook his head. "That doesn't make a lot of sense to me. Can you tell me now?"

Yzak's eyes dropped. "Maybe someday, but not today. I've had just about all I can take today." He was betting that Dearka would understand.

Dearka slowly nodded, and stroked his hand through Yzak's sweaty tangled hair. "Yeah, I guess we both have. It'll keep. We'd better clean up and get some sleep. We fly out again at dawn."

Yzak now looked exhausted, drained of the life-force that usually came off him in waves. He slowly shook his head. "I don't think I've got the energy to drag myself to a shower."

Dearka smiled. "You won't have to."

He got up from the bed without responding to Yzak's demand to know where he was going. After slipping on his shorts, he went back down the hallway to the room which had probably belonged to Waltfeld's gunner. Sure enough, when he went through to the bathroom, he found what he remembered glimpsing there, in his previous foray: a huge bathtub with an extraordinary decorative motif. _Was it Assyrian…Persian…?_ _Well, whatever..._ Dearka mused as he filled the tub. It would do nicely for Yzak. He scavenged towels and soap, and went to carry the poor battered body of his lover to the respite of a hot soak…


	9. Chapter 9

**Orb Waterfront District**

They had split up into two groups to better cover the ground as they searched for the possible location of the Legged Ship. Naturally, Dearka and Yzak paired off; nobody ever considered any other possibility. In his present frame of mind, Yzak might have murdered either Athrun or Nicol if they had got landed with him. Dearka wasn't exactly enjoying the experience himself at the moment. Yzak's mood had been black from the day they reunited with the others, and Commander Le Creuset made Athrun the leader of their little team to continue pursuit of the Strike and the Legged Ship.

Cooped up in the submarine carrier as they had been, boredom only broken by one fleeting episode of furious and unsuccessful battle with their quarry, Yzak had grown steadily worse. _No doubt sexual frustration played a part _thought Dearka as they made their way through a waterfront factory district. It certainly wasn't helping Dearka's mood, either.

They had worked their way out of the built-up area and were now on grassy ground near the shore; a hillside with a grove of trees looking down on a little cove lay not too far up ahead. _Privacy_, thought Dearka, cheering up at the possibilities that came into his mind.

"Hey, Yzak. What say we take a break for a while? There's a nice stand of trees there, with plenty of shade. We could take a little rest out of the sun."

Yzak looked sour, but said grudgingly: "Yeah, all right. But not for long. We've got a lot more area to search."

Once among the trees, Dearka was disappointed to see how rough and damp the ground was. _Not very promising for sitting down, let alone a romantic encounter, _he thought ruefully. For the lack of anything better, he leaned back against one of the broader trees. He stretched his face up to expose it to the little cool breeze that played through the grove. Yzak stood a metre or so away with hands on hips, gazing around with the same sour look on his face.

Dearka decided he might as well confess his disappointment. "I was hoping it might be a little more comfortable in here, Yzak. We could use a little time together, you know."

Yzak glared at him. "We are on duty here! This may be bloody Zala's crazy little exercise in futility, but I'm not going to waste time on fucking around. Literally!"

Dearka grinned at the enraged Yzak. "Bet you'd be tempted if there was a lovely thick soft patch of green grass under here!"

"You are such an arsehole, Elsman!"

Dearka launched himself off the tree and quickly closed the distance between him and Yzak, scooping the other boy into a hug. "We could at least have a cuddle! Don't be such a grouch, Yzak. I miss you!"

For a moment it seemed as if Yzak would shove him away, but suddenly he caved in, and his arms encircled Dearka in return. "OK, but just a hug. No kissing, nothing else."

Dearka laughed, "Not even one little kiss, Yzak?"

Deadly serious, Yzak shook his head. "No. You know it wouldn't stop at one. And it's not what we're here for in Orb. I mean it, Dearka!"

Dearka knew and understood the tone. He gave a sigh of assent and contented himself with snuggling a little closer to Yzak, burying his face in Yzak's neck, and the soft hair that fell from below the ugly Morgenroete factory cap. Dearka's own cap was stuck though his belt. He felt Yzak's hand on the back of his neck, pressing him closer, lightly caressing the skin. Dearka shivered and held Yzak more tightly still. It was better than nothing, but he ached for more.

Several minutes ebbed away. Dearka felt the tension begin to return to Yzak's frame, even before he said the words: "We'd better get going, Dearka." They reluctantly broke apart.

Yzak squared his shoulders. "We should go back along the shoreline into town. I don't think there's anything more of interest in this direction."

As they emerged from the trees, Yzak removed his hat and attempted to smooth his hair into some semblance of order, before putting it back on. "Does my hair look all right?"

"Geez, Yzak. You're just like a girl! Why don't you just carry a mirror?"

Dearka had meant the teasing comment as a way of lightening the mood between them. It badly misfired.

Yzak's face coloured with angry embarrassment. "You're only about the thousandth person to make that comment about how like a girl I look! I didn't think you'd sink that low, Elsman!"

"Hell, Yzak. I never said you **looked** like a girl; I said you were behaving like one over your hair! There's a big difference!"

They walked rapidly and in thunderous silence, till they were back on the streets of the wharf area and heading towards a busier part of the waterfront. Yzak stewed over the taunt the entire way, but realised that he had lost his opportunity for retaliation. Hitting Dearka or even yelling at him would attract attention, tempting though both options were. "Witless moron," Yzak muttered to himself, not even sure which of the two of them he meant.

They stalked on for a couple of minutes more. Stopping at a street corner to get their bearings, Yzak finally relented from the grim silence. "It's a bit of a sensitive issue with me at the moment. Back in Banadiya, some memories got stirred up. I'm still having problems with them, I guess." By Yzak's standards, this was an abject apology.

Dearka smiled. "Sorry, Yzak. I should keep my trap shut, too…. Say, look over there! There's a guy with a van selling ice creams. How 'bout I get us a couple? What flavour would you like?"

Yzak decided to let himself be mollified by this peace offer. "If you want to get me one, I'll have vanilla. None of those crappy things with the pieces of candy through it that you eat!"

Dearka grinned. "You got it, Yzak!" There weren't that many other customers, so it wasn't long before he was back. The two boys strolled along, licking their ice-creams; just two young factory workers enjoying a break in the Orb sunshine.

It's hard to hold a conversation when you are dealing with an ice-cream; particularly one that melts quickly in Orb's warm air. So Dearka was not particularly concerned at the lack of any kind of response from Yzak at one or two mild remarks he made in passing. But apparently Yzak still had something on his mind to account for his silence.

"I know I look a lot like a girl."

_Oh, no, not back to that are we? _thought Dearka.

"There's a reason for it, actually. Specifically, the girl I look like is my mother. When they engineered me, she told them that she wanted me to look like her as much as possible. So they selected for her physical characteristics. Maybe they did a little bit too good a job."

Dearka stopped in mid-lick; a big blob of ice cream landed on the front of his overalls, quite unnoticed. He hoped he was not stepping out of line, but there was something in Yzak's tone that almost invited the question.

"Why did she do that?"

"She didn't want me to have any resemblance whatsoever to my biological father."

Yzak had never spoken about his father in all the years they had known each other. It was a forbidden subject with him. Dearka decided that he might as well stick his neck out a bit further. "Why was that?"

Yzak was glaring at the remains of his own ice cream; he stopped at a street bin and lobbed it in. "Because that was part of the deal they made He was a rising politician; a married man who didn't want any ties to a child outside his marriage. She wanted his DNA because she saw him as having many of the characteristics she wanted for her son. They didn't have any kind of personal relationship. They had a deal: her support in exchange for helping her create a child. A son she could groom as a future political candidate of her own."

Yzak shrugged. "I'm sure they've never had any more physical contact than shaking hands. That's another trait Mother and I evidently share: we both have a preference for our own gender."

Dearka stood there frozen, staring. Yzak gazed into the depths of the bin as if it held the secrets of the universe in there.

Dearka found his voice, automatically trying to salvage some of the ice cream that was by now oozing freely over his hand. "Do you know who he is?"

Yzak turned and looked at him, smiling grimly. "Yeah. I've known since my twelfth birthday. The information about all of this was one of my mother's presents to me that year. Pretty stunning. It was what I was talking about in Banadiya. They've done very well with their little alliance. They're both on the Supreme Council now."

Dearka, in the act of slurping the excess ice cream off his hand, choked. He coughed and spluttered, throwing the remaining cone and ice cream mess into the bin in his turn. He felt a cold hand scrape its nails down his back. _Was this why Yzak hadn't said anything to him five years ago?_

In a voice so strained it verged on squeakiness, he asked: "Bloody hell, Yzak, it's not my father is it?"

Yzak looked surprised for moment and then gave a grim laugh. "Shit, Dearka! It never occurred to me that you might think that! No, it's not your father!" He gave a Dearka a feral grin. "Did you think we'd committed incest? Actually," he drawled, blackly comical, "does it count as incest between same-sex siblings?"

He wasn't speaking very loudly, but Dearka looked quickly round for anybody who might be within earshot. Nobody was anywhere close, thankfully. He grabbed Yzak by the sleeve of his overalls and dragged him over to a doorway. "You're not getting bloody hysterical on me, are you?" he hissed.

"No, not that, Dearka. The look on your face was just too much for me. I promise you I'm fine."

"So which other one is it, then?"

Yzak's mouth smiled, though his eyes were like chips of cold blue marble as he drawled: "Well, can't you guess? It's Patrick Zala."

The world seemed strangely silent to Dearka apart from the beating of his own heart. Then reality clicked back into place as his brain absorbed the information. "Oh, shit, Yzak."

"Yeah, 'oh shit', just about sums it up for me, too."

"Does Athrun know?"

"No, of course not. Nobody does apart from you, me, and the two of them."

"Have you ever spoken to your father about this?"

Yzak snarled: "He is **not** my father. He is simply the source of some of my DNA."

Yzak took a deep breath, visibly calming himself. "Don't forget, he was living on the Moon for over a decade while we were growing up, so he wasn't around. I have met the man only once, a bit over a year ago. He and his wife attended an opera performance where Mother and I were also in the audience. They had a box across from ours, so I got a good look at them. Later, we bumped into them in the foyer while leaving the theatre. My mother introduced me as her son; he nodded at me, and I said "Sir" and that was it. His wife just smiled and nodded. This was about two months before she was killed in the Bloody Valentine. Their son looks a lot more like her than him."

Dearka realised that when Yzak said 'Their son' he was talking about _Athrun, his…brother?"_

It was one of those times when Dearka's head must have been like a clear pane of glass, where Yzak had no trouble seeing the thoughts passing through the mind inside.

"Don't even go thinking about the word brother in connection with him! He is not! We are nothing to each other! Except a pain in the arse to me!"

"It must seem strange being…connected…to these people, but not feeling like they're any sort of family." Dearka was careful in his choice of words, he didn't want to cause an explosion from Yzak, but he badly wanted to gauge his friend's feelings. Dearka could recall Yzak's sarcastic words when Yzak and Athrun argued over this sortie into Orb: 'I can't disagree with the son of Committee Chairman Zala, now, can I?' Those words now had significance in Dearka's mind that they had lacked when he first heard them spoken. Could all that hostility toward Athrun Zala be some sort of perverse sibling rivalry?

Yzak looked at him scornfully. "You've still got a Natural grandfather somewhere here on Earth haven't you? Your mother's father, wasn't it?"

Puzzled, Dearka, nodded. "Yeah, that's right. He and my grandmother split because she wanted their child to be a Coordinator and he didn't. She had my mother made a Coordinator and brought her to the PLANTs as a very small child. She died before I was born, but there's still a photo of her kicking round at home somewhere. What's that got to do with anything?"

"Do you consider the Natural here on Earth, whose DNA you share, to be any kind of family of yours?"

"Well, of course not. DNA doesn't…Oh… yeah; I get your point, Yzak."

"Glad to get that cleared up!" snorted Yzak sarcastically. "Now, shall we get back to this bloody search? I wouldn't want to report anything other than a thorough attempt when we rejoin our illustrious leader!"

"Yeah. Um, Yzak. I have just one question. Why now? I mean, why decide to tell me now?"

Yzak looked moodily at him. "I said in Banadiya that I'd tell you one day, so I have. You may also have to pull me off Athrun's throat some time, the way this farce is going. I thought perhaps you'd better know the background. Now, shall we move on?" And not waiting for a reply, Yzak strode off towards the wharves.

Dearka scrambled to catch him up, his mind racing with the impact of what he had been told. He would have to re-examine his memory of the last five years with Yzak, to re-evaluate so many things about his friend/lover in the light of this new knowledge.

_Yzak, why is it every time I find out something about you, I end up with a bigger puzzle than I had before?_


	10. Chapter 10

**Crew quarters, Bosugolof-class submarine carrier**

_So: after midnight._ Dearka was lying on his back on his bed in the claustrophobic cubby-hole that passed for his personal quarters. He felt thoroughly …._woebegone. And there's damn well nothing I can do about it. I know what I want to do…go to Yzak and crawl into bed with him. Hah! Fat chance of any privacy aboard this bloody vessel._

The last night that he and Yzak had been able to spend together was when Athrun went missing after being thrown from his transport aircraft while they were en route to Carpentaria. Nicol had been beside himself with worry, wanting to start a search at once. Yzak had refused to start before light the next day. The decision was perfectly defensible on the practical grounds of the difficulties of conducting a search at night over the sea. But Dearka had known that the true motivation was to give them a chance to spend the night together. And that was now weeks ago.

Dearka was tired, both physically and mentally. The long weeks of tracking the Legged Ship across the ocean had been broken with a single interval of furious but ultimately frustrating combat. They had been repulsed by the vessel's superb defences and the devilish skill of the Strike's pilot. The ZAFT team had done some damage, but been held off for long enough for the Legged Ship to make its escape, apparently into Orb territory. _Rot the soul of the Strike pilot, and everybody in the two-faced 'neutral' Orb government._

Then the brief spell they had ashore in Orb a couple of days back. That superficially pleasant but somewhat sinister place had provided a sort of respite. Dearka's mind fled to the stand of trees overlooking a little bay, where he and Yzak and been able to snatch a few minutes of privacy. It hadn't been anything like enough, though. Much as Dearka would have liked to escape for a while from Athrun's supervision, there was no way Yzak would ever agree to such neglect of duty.

So now Dearka lay here in the dark, trying to sleep. He was starting to feel truly miserable. He was now three weeks past his 17th birthday on 29 March. He hadn't had such a dull depressing birthday in all his life, and every day since had been worse.

The close confines of the submarine carrier made for a sort of mutual torture between him and Yzak. They were constantly in each other's company, but there was never any real privacy. This afternoon their vessel had surfaced to rendezvous with a supply ship. Give Athrun credit, he at least seemed to be competent about organising their re-supply and refuelling. He and Nicol had gone up top to watch the process, and stayed to count the seagulls or whatever the hell they found to do up there.

To be alone with Yzak had been agonising. Yzak lay on his bed, with his hands behind his head. Dearka had taken up station in a nearby chair, ostensibly reading one of the magazines he had picked up in Orb, but more often watching Yzak out of the corner of his eye. They had talked about the mission, badmouthed Athrun, made black jokes, but all the time their minds had been more on each other than the topic of conversation. Dearka had noticed a particularly sardonic look on Yzak's face when his eye fell on Dearka's magazine at one point. The whole episode had been a sort of self-conscious delicious torture.

But enough was enough. Dearka felt his eyes smarting, and rubbed them there in the darkness. He was angry with himself for giving way like a little kid deprived of his comfort blanket. The thought made him choke back a chuckle that was a little like a sob; nobody else in the world would believe that Yzak could be likened to something like that – not even Yzak himself. A genuine smile spread on Dearka's face: he imagined the revulsion and vitriolic sarcasm that would pour over him if Yzak could read his mind right now! He rolled over on to his side, hugging himself in an effort to soothe his loneliness, and drifted off into an uneasy sleep.

Some indefinable time later, he abruptly woke to the feel of a hand over his mouth, and his name being whispered in his ear.

_Yzak!_

He nearly broke out of Yzak's grasp, so great was the surge of surprise that wrenched him out of his troubled dreams.

"Shhhh, dimwit!" Yzak spoke softly right against his ear; he could almost feel the movement of his lips against the flesh, as well as hear the sound.

"Yzak, what are you doing here?" he whispered fiercely, his hands clutching at Yzak in the darkness. He could feel but not see him.

"Officially I'm on my way for a quick shower; unofficially, I'm here to give you a belated birthday present." _And to make up for being such a righteous prick while we were in Orb_.

"But they'll catch us! There's no time!" Even as he spoke, Dearka's arms, with a mind of their own, were already hungrily closing around Yzak.

"I've scoped this out. There's a shift-change in a couple of minutes. People milling about, plenty of distraction for about ten minutes. Remember Artemis – a **full** ten minutes, Dearka! And besides, this is for you, not me."

With those words Yzak's mouth covered Dearka's with a devouring kiss, and his already-lubed hand slid down the front of the loose boxers that Dearka wore in bed. Dearka gave a shudder of pleasure as Yzak found him. The next few minutes were a feverish blur to Dearka; Yzak used his intimate knowledge of Dearka's body, to drive him swiftly to a frantic level. Dearka erupted in a release so ecstatic that he clenched his teeth, desperate to keep back the hoarse cry that threatened to tear from his throat. And then it was over. Dearka had just a couple of minutes more to be held in Yzak's arms, before, with a last kiss, Yzak pulled free from their embrace, and soft-footed into the darkness. Dearka briefly saw his silhouette as the door opened and he slipped into the dim light of the passageway beyond, not looking back. And then the door was shut, leaving Dearka alone again.

He lay there with his mind in a whirl, between tears and laughter. _Birthday, my arse! Why did you do that, Yzak?_

**Cubical, communal showers**

Yzak fiercely bared his teeth against the cold water hitting his skin. Well, at least Dearka could relax tonight. And hopefully tomorrow stop sneaking looks at him with those mournful, hungry, violet eyes! He glared at the shower wall in front of him: _I guess it's true what they say about loving someone – you value their happiness over your own. Damn, love sucks sometimes!_

**Crew quarters** (two days later)

And now it was Dearka's turn to hold Yzak, sitting side by side on Yzak's own bed, but how different the circumstances were! Dearka had his arm round Yzak's shoulders as he raged over little Nicol Amalfi's death, tears in his eyes. Dearka himself felt numbed by the suddenness of what had happened. The Legged Ship had broken out of Orb, given cover by vessels from that perfidious nation till it reached international waters. The ZAFT team had attacked. And in the fierce fight that ensued, Nicol was killed by the damnable Strike.

At this moment Dearka didn't care a shit about what anybody might think about him sitting here with Yzak. _Not that anybody probably even noticed, in the circumstances. Poor bloody Nicol. He took all our gibes and never held them against us. He may not have been a friend exactly, but he **was** our comrade; he didn't deserve to die like that._

Yzak had got back some control; he was sitting quietly now. No more profanity or tears. He seemed to have got the worst of it out of his system by attacking the locker and venting at Athrun. "You want I should bring you some coffee, Yzak?"

Reluctant nod of the head. "Yeah, thanks. Coffee might help. Don't go putting any bloody sugar in it, though! I don't need coddling."

"Right, Yzak. Hold the sugar, hold the coddling. Got it." It was a weak attempt at humour, but at least it gave Yzak something to take aim at.

"Arsehole!"

_Looks like we're over the worst, for the moment_ thought Dearka, as he went in search of some of the muddy brew the submarine served. In truth, he felt in need of something to brace his own nerves. Fetching coffee also gave him something to do, if only for a little while. It took his mind off the awful fissure that had just opened in their little world and swallowed Nicol.

His mind fled back to the confrontation in the locker room between Yzak and Athrun which he had broken up. If Yzak hadn't told him about the background they shared, he might not have noticed. As the two stood lashing out at each other, each agonised by their own guilt at failing to take down the Strike, for the first time Dearka thought he caught a glimpse of some similarity between the two: not of physical looks, but something in their personalities, as each gave way to the anger within. Very unlike Athrun, who was usually controlled and hard-to-read. _I wonder what the hell kind of personality Patrick Zala has? And just what he has passed to his offspring – both of them?_

Holding two mugs of coffee in imminent danger of slopping, Dearka went back to see how Yzak was getting on.


	11. Chapter 11

**Barracks Room, Carpentaria Base**

Ezalia Joule's image looked gravely back at Yzak from the com-unit screen. She shook her head in answer to his question.

"No, there has been no indication of any kind of ransom demand from the Earth Forces for Dearka. I cannot imagine that even the Naturals would fail to discover his identity, and its significance, were he their prisoner. And given their behaviour in the Lacus Clyne affair…."

"Have you asked Dearka's father directly? There is always the possibility that a private approach might be made to pressure him as a member of the Supreme Council, rather than an open demand of some kind."

Yzak's mother nodded approvingly at this insightful suggestion.

"Yes, the same thought had occurred to me. I have spoken to Tad privately. He swore that no such contact had been made. I am certain that he was speaking the truth. I think it is inevitable, that in spite of our best efforts, there is some Earth Alliance espionage presence here on Aprilius One. I think it is reasonable to assume that they have the capacity for making secret contact with him, if they had sufficient motive. The lack of any contact, overt or clandestine argues…well, you see where logically it leads."

No more needed to be said. They both knew that the lack of any sign of Dearka, as a hostage or prisoner of war, was very strong evidence that he was dead.

"Yes, Mother. I understand. Thank you for your efforts to look into the matter."

"I do have other news for you. Your other team-mate Athrun Zala is going to be awarded the Order of the Nebula for destroying the Earth Forces mobile suit. Furthermore, he is going to be transferred to the Special Forces answering directly to the National Defence Committee itself. The latter was at the specific direction of Chairman Patrick Zala."

Yzak looked calmly back at his mother. "I am not surprised. Official acknowledgement was bound to be made of his destruction of the Strike."

The manner of neither Yzak nor his mother gave the least hint of the disappointment that this represented to them, though the nature of that disappointment was different for each. Both of the Joules had a capacity to cut their losses and move on. Neither would have dreamed of making any further mention of the Zalas, father or son. That was not any kind of issue for discussion between them; nor ever would be.

"However, on a happier note, Yzak, I think it very likely that you will be getting promotion yourself in the foreseeable future. Experienced elite pilots are very much in demand to head the new teams that are being formed as part of the expansion of ZAFT forces. I think that once your current commitment on Earth is over, you will back here again."

_If I survive Spitbreak, Mother._ "That's very good to hear, Mother. Though I expect to be busy down here for some time. I can't go into details, obviously."

Ezalia Joule smiled. "That's all right, Yzak. As a Council Member I have some knowledge of the matter. I quite understand."

With a little more mother-son chitchat the conversation wound its way to a close and with the usual maternal admonition to be careful, Ezalia Joule broke the link.

Yzak stood there for a moment and then let the mask slip. His shoulders sagged and his face now betrayed the misery he had kept so firmly under control in his mother's presence. His last hope for any positive word about Dearka had just died. He walked over to the bed and lay down on his back, arms folded behind his head, staring at the ceiling. He hated this room. It reminded him painfully of the room he had shared with Dearka at the Gibraltar Base.

_This bloody room…Be glad to get away to join Commander Le Creuset. _

_Dearka, I miss you, you bastard!_

He revisited, for perhaps the hundredth time, that moment when he had woken up after the last fight. Duel had taken heavy damage and he'd returned to the submarine carrier. He had given in to the urging of the vessel's medic to get the gash in his scalp stitched. It wasn't a serious injury, but it bled profusely. The damned medic had sworn that it was only a local anaesthetic he'd used in stitching the wound, but for some reason it had made Yzak flake out.

When he woke up, everything had changed: the others were gone. The submarine carrier was retreating. Disbelief and anger fuelled his argument with the vessel's commander; the bastard had his orders and wouldn't go back. Fortunately Yzak made it to the privacy of his quarters before the tears and wild emotions kicked in. The bones of his hands had ached for a day afterwards.

Hope had fought wildly with the worst fears in his mind, till word came many hours later that Athrun was OK, but that there was no sign of either Buster or Dearka. Probably the Earth Forces had retrieved the Buster, or at least whatever was left of it, but no word of Dearka….And there had been nothing since.

Lying on the bed, he ignored the slow trickle of a tear down his face now, as the thoughts flickered through his tired mind:

…_Ten years of friendship and a few weeks of love, with someone bloody extraordinary. Many people never get either of those things in their lives... _

_Dearka…I never told you…_

_Shit! Don't whine over what you've lost…You're a soldier; everything in your life, your fucking life itself, is up for grabs!_

_Dearka knew the score…We both knew when we first put on these red coats, what the price might be…_

_The damn Naturals will pay dearly for you too, Dearka, one way or another. _

**Corridor, Carpentaria Barracks** (sunset the next day)

Yzak had waited outside Athrun Zala's room for him to emerge. He had mixed emotions about why he was there. Somehow he felt he owed it to Dearka, and perhaps the others from their team who had gone. They had started out with a core group of six at the heart of the Le Creuset team, and he and Athrun were the last remnants. And now Athrun was going too…

When they shook hands in farewell, Yzak was surprised by the lack of real animosity he felt. Somehow, it had all got burnt away. Athrun **had **destroyed the Strike in the end, and that earned him some respect from Yzak, unrelated to the feelings of disappointment that he hadn't been able to achieve it himself.

He'd never like Athrun Zala: too much painful history there, too much secret complication, too much irritation with a personality so alien from his own. But, nevertheless…_I hope you survive, you bastard. Don't go getting yourself killed…_

And before he knew it he had actually put the thought into words, disguised as a gibe about wanting to be in a position to give Athrun orders some day. Of course Athrun saw right through him, but Yzak didn't give a damn.

He watched Athrun Zala walk slowly out of sight down the long corridor, bathed with warm sunset light. He took a deep breath and started walking away in his own direction.

_Why is it that some of the most painful moments of my life have happened in fucking corridors like this? I will be so glad to see the back of this place..._

_Oh, Dearka…!_

And then there was only the empty corridor and the fading golden light.

**

* * *

**

**Afterword**

This is the first of what is intended to be two stories. The second will start at the meeting between Dearka and Yzak on Mendel Colony, and cover their lives through the period of Gundam Seed Destiny. My tentative title is something like "And in the heavens."

I envision a storyline that goes something like this: Yzak looses Dearka, Dearka gets Mir, Mir dumps Dearka, Yzak gets Dearka. (As I see it, the crucial aspect of the relationship between Yzak and Dearka is that while Dearka is indeed capable of being strongly **attracted** by a girl, he is **in love** with Yzak. I suspect that it just takes him a couple of years of personal growth before he can tell the difference).

Unfortunately there will have to be some delay before I can produce the second story, as in the somewhat remote part of the world in which I live, it has not yet appeared on tv, and so far only the first few episodes are available on DVD. I have a strong preference for keeping largely within the canon of the original plot and would not wish to stray too far away from it through not having seen Destiny. (I admit my theory about Yzak's parentage has no real support in the canon, but there is nothing that refutes it, either. And he and Patrick Zala certainly have some similarity in their capacity for anger, if nothing else.)

I would like to thank Silver Mirror, Kiagou-chan, and Jenihenpen for the reviews while I was writing this story. It is only the third fanfic I have written, and the other two were both short. The encouragement is much appreciated.


End file.
